


A Favor

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Massage, Oral Sex, Potions, Rough Sex, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tenderness, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Jaskeir repaid a favor once, Geralt decided to keep the tradition going.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 760
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	A Favor

**Author's Note:**

> I write Geralt/Jaskeir in one of two ways: either they're really good friends who enjoy the benefits of a close relationship, or they're deeply in love. There is no in between. This is the former. Also, I love throwing Valdo Marx under the bus.
> 
> I'm terrible at tags, so I don't mind suggestions. All mistakes are mine, let me know if you find a typo and it'll be seen to. And, as always, enjoy :)
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'm back on tumblr now as round--robin

In the game of life, Jaskier's luck was more of a mixed bag. When he was lucky, he got really lucky: women, gold, fame, it all came rolling in. When he was unlucky, the pendulum swung just as far in the other direction: empty pockets, men chasing him for decidedly not sexy reasons, and a good deal of bodily harm.

Meeting Geralt of Rivia didn't change his fortunes necessarily, more... smoothed out the bumps. To put it another way, jilted cuckolds were less likely to come after Jaskier with a Witcher standing menacingly over his shoulder. Well, brooding in the corner. It still worked, and it got Jaskier out of some pretty close calls. Usually, Geralt's mere presence was enough to dissuade any potential assailants, but some husbands and/or fathers were really determined.

In the middle of _Toss a Coin_ , the tavern door burst open, a man who looked like the town blacksmith—soot, grime, arms for days—walked in, his eyes scanning the room and landing on Jaskier. “You!” he shouted. “You knocked up my daughter!”

Jaskier's fingers slammed to a stop mid-strum, his strings making a horrible squeaking noise. “Excuse me, sir, I believe you have me confused with—”

“She said it was a bard!” The man stalked across the pub, large hands clenching, like they couldn't wait to wrap around Jaskier's throat

Scampering up onto the table, Jaskier tried to get as far away as possible. “Really, I think you've got the wrong—”

“She said bard?” Geralt asked from the dark corner he chose to haunt tonight. He stood up and walked across the pub, putting himself half between Jaskier and the irate father.

The man sized up Geralt and took half a step back, his face still red with anger. “She said bard. And he's the only bard in town.” Beady eyes focused on Jaskier, a large purple vein in the man's forehead pulsing. “Now, are you gonna be a good lad an' do what's right, or do I take your hide down to my forge?”

Geralt arched an eyebrow at the man and shook his head. “It takes a while to confirm pregnancy, and we've only been here two days. I know he looks like a scoundrel, but even he's not such a cocks-man to impregnate a girl that quickly. I'm afraid you're looking for another bard.”

“There-there was a traveling troupe in town last month!” Jaskier said from behind Geralt. “A friend of mine, Valdo Marx, travels with them, we crossed paths recently and he told us the delights of your town. If I were you, I'd try Valdo, Valdo Marx.”

The man ground his teeth together, unconvinced. “He's right,” Geralt said, drawing the man's attention. “It's why we headed this way. I got a job from the mayor. Killed a nest of ghouls in your graveyard.”

The blacksmith huffed an angry breath and Jaskier imagined he saw steam coming out of the man's nose. He jabbed a shaking finger in Jaskier's direction. “You vouch for this whelp, Witcher? You swear he didn't touch my girl?”

“I swear he didn't have time to get her pregnant,” Geralt said. Jaskier winced. That wasn't even close to a yes...

But it seemed enough to mollify the blacksmith. He huffed again and glared at Jaskier. “You leave. Tomorrow.”

“We'll be gone at first light,” Geralt said. With a frustrated growl, the man left the tavern, storming out as quickly as he stormed in.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Jaskier collapsed onto the table, all the bones in his body turning to mush. The rest of the patrons, amused by the promise of blood shed, went back to their meals. “Oh, thank you, Geralt.” Jaskier sat up and got down from the table, legs shaking. “I think... I think that's enough excitement for tonight.” Hands trembling, he cradled his lute to his chest, he wasn't going to finish the song, all Jaskier wanted now was a pint and the bed they had upstairs.

Chuckling softly at the quaking bard, Geralt grabbed the back of Jaskier's doublet and aimed him towards the stairs. “Go on, I'll bring us some ale.”

“Thank you, again.” Jaskier made his way up the stairs and retreated to the safety of their room. He collapsed onto the bed as soon as he was in range, Jaskier didn't even think he remembered to lock the door.

Geralt came up a few minutes later, a mug of ale in each hand. He nudged Jaskier's leg with his foot, rousing him. “Come on, bard, drink up to regain your strength.”

Jaskier sat up and took the offered drink with a grateful nod. Geralt watched with an arched eyebrow as Jaskier tipped the mug back, and back, and back... and finished in one pull. “Well,” he grunted and started on his own drink.

“Terror makes me thirsty.” Jaskier sat up on the bed, his wits slowly coming back, the shaking in his fingers finally ebbing away. “Thank you, for your help.”

Geralt grunted again and settled in the chair by the door. “Did you actually touch the girl?”

Oh, Jaskier knew this would come up. Geralt wasn't fond of lying and Jaskier did hate putting him in that position... “I believe so, yes. But, like you said: I definitely did not have time to... leave anything behind.”

“You believe—” Geralt cut himself off and rolled his eyes. “You better be more careful with your cock or one of these days, someone will snap it off.”

“It's starting to feel like that.” Jaskier tipped back the mug, gathering the last few drops of ale before shaking himself. With the irate blacksmith gone, his belly full of ale, and the blame squarely pinned on Valdo Marx (Jaskier noticed Geralt had no qualms about that incomplete truth; they had run into Valdo's troupe on the way here and much to his pleasure, Geralt found him just as distasteful as Jaskier did) Jaskier's spirits started to lift. He set his empty mug next to the bed and stood up. When his legs held, he made his way across the room and sat down between Geralt's spread legs, hands resting on his knees.

Geralt twitched away slightly, but did not rise from the chair. They'd been traveling together long enough for him to let Jaskier's little eccentricities play out. “What are you doing?”

Peering up through his lashes, Jaskier slid one hand to the buttons of Geralt's breeches. “You did me a favor tonight. Allow me to return it?”

A tongue darted out to lick suddenly dry lips and Geralt nodded. “Fine.”

Permission granted, Jaskier slid both hands over the rapidly rising bulge in Geralt's breeches and started coaxing the buttons open. Geralt hissed when soft fingers touched heated skin, gently stroking, bringing his cock to full attention. His hands gripped tight to the chair as the night took quite a different direction than he'd anticipated.

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed, still examining the cock in his hands. Geralt was _large_ , to say the least, much larger than Jaskier was used too, with a plump head almost too big to get his lips around. But when Jaskier went to repay a kind favor, he did not back down, no matter the obstacle in front of him. “I enjoy a challenge.”

Jaskier started slow, gently licking the head, swirling his tongue around and spreading the gathering wetness leaking from the slit. He didn't start stroking, not yet, merely steadied the base with one hand and let his tongue do most of the exploring. Jaskier pulled the foreskin back and ran his tongue around the crown a few times, making hypnotizing little circles. Geralt swallowed thickly and Jaskier had to hide his smile.

The soft ministrations built up a good amount of saliva on his lips, and Jaskier used that to his full advantage. Pressing his lips together like a kiss, he rubbed them across the head and Geralt started to squirm. “Jaskier...” he hissed.

“Relax.” Jaskier dipped one hand down to massage Geralt's fine, yet tensed, thigh. “I'm very good at this.”

Taking pity on the Witcher, Jaskier opened his mouth and started making a real go of it. His hand on the base started stroking, long, torturous pulls from root to tip, enough for his fingers to brush his lips as they did their job creating a wealth of suction. Geralt bit his lip and his hips gave a stuttered buck, not enough to shove his cock further into Jaskier's mouth, but enough to let Jaskier know they were getting somewhere good.

Jaskier circled his tongue a few times before tracing up the vein running down Geralt's cock and the Witcher bucked again. “Jaskier...”

Jaskier pulled off, his lips still pressed against the head in a kiss, hand stroking. “If I couldn't take what you give me, I would've have offered in the first place. Don't worry about me.” One lick up the side of the shaft and he went back to work, picking up the pace.

It took a surprisingly long amount of time for Geralt to come. Given his first few reactions, Jaskier thought the surprise and newness of it had them well on their way, but damn Witchers and their stamina... Nothing he couldn't handle, though.

With his fingers lightly brushing Geralt's balls through his breeches, Jaskier felt a new tension spiral through him and sucked harder, revving up for a big finish...

And what a finish it was. Hips thrusting up, Geralt groaned, the kind of noise he made mid-battle, and a tingle of lust shot down Jaskier's spine. But this wasn't about him. Hot, bitter come coated his tongue and Jaskier swallowed it all, which was almost as much of a feat as the blow job itself. He pressed the flat of his tongue against the underside of Geralt's cock to make sure he caught every drop and continued to suck until Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him away.

“Thank you,” Geralt grunted, his voice rough with exhaustion. Jaskier smirked to himself; knowing he, ah, _sucked_ the energy out of Geralt was its own reward.

“No trouble.” He rested his head against Geralt's thigh for a moment. He wasn't looking for anything, that wasn't the point of returning a favor, but sometimes it was nice to stay close after such intimacies. A large hand brushed through his hair before retreating and Jaskier knew Geralt felt the same.

They both climbed shakily to their feet and separated. Geralt tucked himself away, then removed his tunic, heading towards the bed. “I shall sleep well tonight, I think.”

Jaskier smirked, a little bit of pride welling in his stomach. “Good. You deserve the rest.”

~

Through all his travels, Jaskier thought he knew a thing or two about people. He knew what made them happy, what made them sad, and what made them horny—which, as a bard, was all he really needed. After he started traveling with Geralt, Jaskier got to see the parts of humanity he really didn't like.

“Are you shitting me?” he shouted at the mayor, or the innkeeper—Jaskier couldn't remember who set the contract—all he knew was this man was refusing to pay Geralt for his services, and he would not let that stand. “You set a contract and now here we are, proof in hand, and you refuse to pay?”

The mayor shrugged. “How do we know the Witcher truly did his duties? That banshee has haunted these parts for years, how do we know she's really gone?”

Jaskier's jaw fell open. “He handed you a bag full of specter dust not two minutes ago!”

“How is that proof? Might be common road dirt!”

Jaskier was about to strangle this man, or let Geralt strangle him. “Banshees are specters! Dust is all you get off them!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled. “It's not worth it.”

“Oh, yes it is!” Usually, Jaskier used his charm and wit to wheedle extra coin out of semi-grateful townspeople, but as soon as someone tried to fully deny Geralt his earned bounty, the bard became livid. “You did a job, Geralt, you will be paid for it.” He turned back to the mayor, eyes flaming. “Do you know why that banshee was your only problem? Because even other monsters don't like them. Now that she's gone, they will come rolling in, believe me. You will need a Witcher again and, unless you pay what you've promised, you won't get one through these parts again.”

The man huffed at Jaskier. He understood why, standing next to Geralt, the bard looked timid and small, like there was no heft behind his words. Jaskier would soon correct that mistaken belief. “Do you control all Witchers, bard?” The mayor chuckled to himself. “Even if what you say is true, Witchers always chase coin, taking this lying scoundrel to task will not cost us our future.”

A malevolent gleam sparkled in Jaskier's eyes as he leaned forward over the pub table, encroaching on the man's space. “Oh yes it will. Winter will be here soon, and do you know where Witchers go for winter? They go home. In a few weeks' time, Geralt will be at Kaer Morhen, telling everyone to avoid the Velda River, as it's residents don't pay their debts.” He stood up to his full height and sneered down at the man. “Geralt, maybe we should see the Lord before we leave, tell him this area isn't friendly to those who do decent work.”

All the color drained from the mayor's face. Oh yes, Jaskier understood enough of local politics to know no mayor worth his salt wanted to bother the local Lord. Lords were only good for two things: taxes and military support. One bad word from a Witcher (loathed as they were, they provided a necessary service most lords did not want to give) and both would flee this town before that mayor blinked.

“We...” he whispered. His eyes fell away from Jaskier's. “We don't have the money to pay.”

“Then you shouldn't have promised it,” Jaskier growled. He had sympathy for those in dire need, of course, but this had gone on too long. They thought no one cared if their swindled a Witcher, and Jaskier was eager to teach them a lesson about that.

“Will your Witcher take half?”

“He'll take two thirds,” Jaskier said. “And you'll let his mare go from the stables free of charge.”

The mayor cursed under his breath and relented, handing Jaskier a money bag that was far too light. “Come, Geralt, let's go.”

They left the tavern and Jaskier handed the money over to Geralt. As they made their way out of town, Geralt stopped and bought supplies... more than they'd usually need. “You're too soft,” Jaskier whispered when they were half way down the road out of town.

“I'd rather the people have that money than the mayor,” he said. Jaskier nodded and they continued on their way.

When they stopped to make camp, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the shoulder, turning him around. Eyes of molten gold burned into him as Geralt pushed Jaskier back towards a tree. “You didn't have to do that,” he said.

Jaskier shrugged. “You deserved to get paid, like all people.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted and let his hands travel down to Jaskier's waist. “You did me a favor.” Without another word, strong fingers unlaced Jaskier's breeches and reached inside. Jaskier bit his lip, hands flying up to brace on Geralt's shoulders.

A surprisingly gentle hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking. They didn't have anything as handy as oil—Jaskier's personal items were all still packed away—but Geralt used his first strokes to spread the welling precome at the head of Jaskier's cock, easing the way. Once Jaskier was decently slick, Geralt's strokes came a little faster, finger tips pressing up the sides, catching at the head in a delicious rhythm, applying pressure in all the right places.

“Mmm,” Jaskier groaned and held tighter to Geralt. “Yes, just like that...” He was teetering on the edge and closed his eyes, just a little more...

Geralt's lips pressed against Jaskier's in a soft, but claiming kiss and Jaskier came, hips bucking into Geralt's hand, come shooting out onto the ground. He moaned into the kiss as his orgasm went on far longer than usual, finally pushing Geralt away when sensitivity replaced the pleasure. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, their lips almost touching.

Burning eyes locked with his and Geralt lifted his hand to his mouth. Some of Jaskier's spend clung to his fingers and Jaskier gave a choked off moan as Geralt's tongue lapped at the drops. “No problem,” he said. “Just returning the favor.” He licked his hand one more time before pulling away to make camp.

~

Jaskier had to admit, having Geralt around got him out of more than a few scrapes. But, it wasn't a completely one-sided relationship, oh no. Some days, after a particularly rough fight, Jaskier would have to all but carry Geralt up the stairs of whatever inn they were at and bandage the man within an inch of his life.

“What did you do before me?” he grumbled, wrapping fresh bandages around a very large wound in Geralt's side.

Geralt shrugged, then immediately winced. “Mostly, just waited for the bleeding to stop.”

Witcher healing helped a lot, and mostly, Jaskier best served Geralt by making sure the man actually paid attention to his own body and its needs. When Geralt stumbled back into town after a three day hunt, Jaskier already saw the shadows of too many potions and not enough actual food under his eyes. “Come on, you.” He dragged Geralt back to their room and ordered him a bath, cleaning his armor while the Witcher soaked his tired muscles. After forcing some food down his throat, rest was the next order of business.

But once Geralt spread himself out on the bed, he continued to squirm and toss, the opposite of rest. Jaskier sighed at him. “What's wrong?”

Geralt pressed his lips together and thought for a second before answering. “My back hurts. Werewolf jumped on me. I think I strained something.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier abandoned Geralt's armor (it was mostly clean, anyway) and approached the bed. Spread out on top of the sheets, Geralt didn't have a stitch on him. It didn't bother either of them, not after this long, not after all they'd been through. Jaskier rested a hand on the small of Geralt's back. “May I?” Geralt nodded and Jaskier felt the tight muscles the bath hadn't been enough to soothe.

Right away, he felt a sea of knots in Geralt's back and lightly pressed at a few. Geralt tensed, but didn't make a noise. “Your back is a mess.” Jaskier retrieved a bottle of oil from his bag and rolled up his sleeves. “Lucky for you, many a lady of the night passed by Oxenfurt Academy, and I picked up a thing or two.”

Pouring the oil into one cupped palm, the smells of lavender and aloe filled the room. Geralt's nose twitched but he was too tired to do much other than melt into the bed. If Jaskier wanted to try and beat his muscles into submission, who was he to argue?

Jaskier got to work massaging Geralt's shoulders. After he worked out the fifth knot in a row, he sat back and removed his own shirt, settling in for a lot of effort. “You are one giant knot,” he said. “Has anyone ever rubbed your back?” Geralt visited brothels, he'd seen it, so why, for the love of all the gods, did he not take advantage of the other fine skills most whores possessed?

“Mmm, not many are up to the task,” Geralt rumbled. As far as Jaskier could tell, Geralt was half-asleep, melting into a contented pool under Jaskier's skilled hands.

“Well, my fingers are well trained from all my playing. I'll fix your back yet.”

For the next twenty minutes, Jaskier massaged, rolled and kneaded Geralt's muscles, adding more oil as he went to smooth the slide of his hands over warm skin. The lavender and aloe helped relax the tough Witcher skin and muscles, but Jaskier still managed to work up a sweat. When he finally reached Geralt's fine and wonderful ass, he treated it like any stubborn muscle and the knots and tension soon gave way under his insistent fingers.

He slid one hand down over Geralt's thigh and found a few more knots. Jaskier was starting to feel the ache of trying to undo decades of Geralt's tension, but he pressed on. Giving his ass a little swat, he retreated from the bed for a moment. “Roll over. Your legs need work too.”

Eyes closed, Geralt did as asked. His large frame took up almost the entire bed, arms stretching out from edge to edge. His cock rested in the bend of his hip, half hard and a little interested after three days of neglect during Geralt's hunt. Jaskier tried not to let the giant man stretched out like an indulgent cat distract him and climbed back onto the bed.

He poured more oil into his hands and concentrated on Geralt's thighs, then moved down to his calves and worked the last few knots he found there, then his feet. Geralt let out a deep groan when Jaskier pressed the pad of his thumb into the arch of one foot, then the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt's cock twitch to attention. With each touch and stroke, it woke up a little more while the man himself continued to doze on the bed.

Shifting to a sitting position, Jaskier pulled one of Geralt's heavy legs up onto his shoulder to better search out any spots he might have missed. After finding one knot in the back of his thigh, Jaskier followed the tension down, his finger brushing Geralt's hole. “Mmm,” the half-asleep Witcher moaned. One amber eye opened and peered at Jaskier.

Jaskier arched an eyebrow in question and brushed his finger over Geralt's hole again, spreading the oil a little. Geralt replied by letting his knees fall open, revealing... well, everything. Jaskier applied more oil to his fingers and pressed two inside. Geralt moaned at the contact, his hand dipping down to lightly stroke his cock.

With Geralt's leg on his shoulder, Jaskier was in a prime position to watch what he was doing. His own cock strained in his breeches as he watched his fingers disappear inside Geralt's ass, coaxing soft moans from his chest, beautifully sweet noises that were equal pleasure and exhaustion. When Geralt arched to get more of Jaskier's slow thrusts, it was a lazy, sleepy movement filled with cat-like grace. Jaskier felt around until his fingers brushed against that small bundle of nerves and Geralt groaned, his strokes getting faster.

His hands slippery with oil, it wasn't difficult to add a third finger and watch Geralt start to shake, his climax rolling through him like a wave. With his whole body massaged and relaxed to perfection, it was a lazy orgasm with what Jaskier considered to be far too much come. He shook his head and retrieved a wet cloth to finish the job he started.

Once Geralt was clean and relaxed, Jaskier stood up, stretching out the ache in his back. “Jaskier,” Geralt's soft voice called him back. Those amber eyes bore through him and a tingle shot down Jaskier's spine. Geralt rolled over, lifting his hips just enough to bring Jaskier's eyes directly to that shapely ass. Geralt peered over his shoulder. “You did me a favor,” he said.

Jaskier was not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth, or decline a Witcher who offered his ass. “My pleasure.” He took a moment to pull off his breeches, then grabbed the oil. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Geralt's spread legs.

“Oh...” he sighed to himself as he poured some of the oil across his cock. In the years they'd traveled together, they did each other favors a lot—a quick hand in the woods, or a blow job before retiring for the night—but never in his wildest dreams did Jaskier think he'd be offered this ass. He ran an oily hand down the side of one cheek, showing all due reverence before lining up the head of his cock and slowly pushing in.

Tight heat closed around him and Jaskier could not hold back the moan it tore from his chest. Geralt tilted his hips a bit more and Jaskier sank into the hilt, making him gasp. “Sorry, too fast...” He tried to pull back only to have Geralt hook one hand behind his ass, spurring him forward.

Mischief shined in those heavy lidded amber eyes. “Too slow,” he corrected. “You won't break me, Jaskier.” Geralt all but purred the name and Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from coming right there.

Of all the ways Geralt called his name—whether it was a shout in frustration, a growl of anger, or a tired plea—this was definitely the best. Smooth and gruff at the same time, like honey over gravel, the simple call of his name poured through Jaskier and his hips moved faster. “Oh, I will give you whatever you want,” he whispered.

Geralt smiled. “You already did. Now what do you want?”

Jaskier held tight to Geralt's hips, widening his knees to stabilize himself a little. “This. Only this...”

There were no more words now, just soft gasps and moans, a few grunts as Jaskier thrust inside Geralt. The Witcher thrust back to meet him, adding slaps of oiled skin to the symphony of soft, unbearably sexy noises filling the room. If Jaskier could write a song about this, it would be his greatest work yet.

Just as Jaskier's toes started to curl, pleasure filling his entire body, Geralt's hips tilted again and he squeezed one hand between his hips and the bed. The idea of Geralt stroking himself while Jaskier pounded away at his ass was too much and he came with a shout, giving two more powerful thrusts before his legs gave out and he collapsed. Geralt shuddered under him, stroking himself through his second orgasm of the night. A twinge of jealousy shot through Jaskier's stomach, bloody Witchers and their insatiable libidos.

It took a moment, but Jaskier managed to roll off Geralt's back and collapse onto the bed next to him. Geralt grunted his thanks and made room, rolling onto his side so the men were facing each other, sated, exhausted eyes looking their last before sleep. Geralt closed the small gap between them and kissed Jaskier, slow and lazy, more a thank you than a prelude to something more.

When he pulled back, Jaskier smiled, his eyes already closing, ready for sleep. “I should rub your back more often.”

“Hmm, you can, if you like.”

Jaskier didn't quite know what to say to that.

~

Geralt helped Jaskier make camp, then fucking disappeared. The Witcher had been a little off since they took this contract. It came in waves, first: incredulous— “Skelliege isn't big enough for twenty ice trolls,” —then angry— “Why in all fuck did they let it get this bad?” —and finally, cautious— “Don't follow me. I need to... check some things. Stay put.”

That's the last thing he said before disappearing: _stay put_. Like Jaskier was some dog he could order around...

Well, no one could say Jaskier was useless. He busied himself setting up camp, lighting a fire, and getting Roach settled. Geralt found them a good spot sheltered by a cliff, and the bitter wind and cold that always blew through Skelliege didn't bite as hard here.

Just as he settled down to scratch out a few notes in his composing book, Geralt appeared and Jaskier sprang to his feet again. “So? How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Geralt grunted, picking up his alchemy bag and staring at the leather a little longer than usual. “I did some scouting, managed to approach from the side and they didn't see me. Looked like ten trolls...” He shook his head. “Fucking how did they let it get this bad?” Geralt finally opened his alchemy bag and started rooting around inside, frowning at everything he saw. Trolls could be reasoned with, if one wanted to spend the time, but this lot had been raging and murdering their way through a few villages now, so there was no possible redemption in the eyes of the locals. Best to end it as quick as possible.

“Too much for you alone? I'm sure we could return to town, gather some extra help...” Jaskier watched Geralt carefully, he always did, but now especially. He saw the dent of frustration form between his eyebrows as he considered the two potions in his hand. Jaskier didn't pretend to know which potion was which (none of them we labeled, for starters, and most were exactly the same color, not easy for a human to tell) but he recognized these bottles and understood Geralt's hesitance.

“Can you take two Thunderbolts?” he asked. “Is that safe?” Like any Witcher potion was _safe_.

Geralt didn't answer—which usually meant Jaskier was on the right track—and he tucked the potions away, one in his glove for easy access, the other at his belt. After that, he checked his swords and other necessary tools before nodding to himself and turning to Jaskier.

“I need a favor,” Geralt said.

Jaskier arched an eyebrow. “Now? But I thought you were going to...” he trailed off, gesturing to the swords and the clearly combat ready Witcher.

“After.” Geralt's throat tightened around the word. “It might be... a big favor.” He looked down at his feet for a moment and shifted, suddenly unsure. Jaskier didn't like it. Geralt in full armor, ready for a fight, there was nothing _unsure_ about that Geralt, and Jaskier wanted to make it stop. “You don't have to. I'm sure I can stay up in the mountains until it wears off. You might have to go find me before I—”

Jaskier cut him off with a finger on his lips. It felt odd, being this close when Geralt was ready to fight—their closeness was reserved for quiet tavern rooms and lonely nights—but Jaskier had to stop that fatalistic thinking he was so good at. “Come back when you're done. Whatever state you're in, we'll manage.” He stepped away, cheeks suddenly hot. “I will not search for your unconscious body in the snow. Just... come back. I'll do you any favor you need.”

Geralt nodded. “Alright.” Squaring his shoulders, monster fighter Geralt returned and Jaskier relaxed a little. No matter what, he was focused on the job at hand, gave him better odds of coming back. He stomped off into the snow, disappearing up the mountain path. Leaving Jaskier to... sit.

He puttered around the camp for a minute, trying to busy himself and distract his mind from the implications of Geralt's non-conversation. Though he didn't come out and say it, Jaskier knew: there were far too many ice trolls, so many, Geralt felt the need to take two vials of one of his more intense potions. Jaskier had seen Geralt coming down from the more benign (if any of the Witcher's poison brews could be described as _benign_ ) potions, and it ranged from ravenous hunger, to meditating for hours on end. The idea that Geralt might require... _a favor_ to come down from this potion made Jaskier both excited and incredibly nervous. What could possibly amp Geralt up so high, even after a fight with ten gods damn ice trolls?

So now Jaskier was worried, anxious, and horny, in that order. And Geralt left him to stew at the camp by himself. For hours.

Time slowed to a crawl and Jaskier did his best to fill it. He heated some of their meager rations over the fire and chewed at them for something to do. He found a close stream running with the clearest water he'd ever seen and brought some to heat near the fire, just in case Geralt had wounds to disinfect later. He brushed Roach, but kept her saddle close at hand. The way Geralt brought up this hypothetical rescue on the mountain made Jaskier think it was more than hypothetical, and he didn't want to waste time with Roach's tack, not when Geralt might need them to spring into action at a moment's notice.

When he'd done everything he could think of, Jaskier's hands twitched, trying to squeeze more movement into this endless waiting, some activity he'd overlooked, anything to quiet the gentle thrum of anxiety in his chest. He left his lute down in the inn back in town, while he knew there was a risk of it disappearing, the instrument didn't like the cold and the last thing Jaskier needed was both Geralt and his lute damaged by this contract. As soon as this was over, he was writing a fucking song about the crash and smash of ice hurled by the beastly trolls, almost killing the brave Witcher, and then he'd sing it in every town who begged them to investigate the mountain. They'd pay Geralt well for his work, oh yes indeed—

A twig snapped and Jaskier jumped to his feet, watching the path that led to their little camp. There was no way the ice tolls made it past Geralt, right? And they'd never come down this far. Right?

Just as Jaskier cast his eyes around for a dagger, a frying pan, a weapon of any kind, Geralt stumbled into view, his limbs shaking, chest heaving.

“Geralt!” Jaskier sprang to his feet and started searching Geralt for wounds. There was a bit of rubble and ice sticking in his hair, a half-formed bruise on his jaw, but otherwise he looked fine. Strong arms clung to him and Jaskier felt the tremors running through Geralt's entire body. “What do you need?” he whispered, so as not to overstimulate sensitive Witcher ears. “Tell me, what do you need?”

A low, feral growl ripped from Geralt's chest and suddenly, Jaskier was pinned to the cliff, Geralt's face hovering inches from his own, eyes wide and wild. His hair came loose from its tie at some point during the fight or his trip back down the mountain, and the chaotic white locks hanging around his face made Geralt look more than a little savage. Add in the wide yellow eyes, and the body crackling with unspent energy, Jaskier didn't know if Geralt wanted to kill him, or fuck him.

Lips crushed against Jaskier's hard enough to draw blood, which Geralt immediately lapped away with his tongue, pressing it inside Jaskier's mouth like he was trying to get the last drops of honey out of the jar. Strong arms crushed Jaskier to that firm chest, stealing his breath. When Geralt finally released him to breathe, crazed, manic eyes stared into his, but the hand cupping his jaw was gentle despite the tremor running through it.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered.

“I'm going to fuck you until you pass out, then do it again when you wake up,” Geralt hissed, his voice like ice sheering off a cliff.

Jaskier gulped and nodded his agreement. They'd been a little rough before—when it had been too long between towns and they were both stir crazy—Jaskier could handle Geralt. At least... he hoped he could.

Pulling away for a moment, Geralt threw his swords down and stripped his armor. “Take your clothes off,” that rough voice commanded, and Jaskier complied. He just had his boots off and was working on the laces of his breeches before Geralt lunged at him again, pinning him to the icy cliff again, teeth attacking his neck.

Jaskier cried out, more from the cold than anything else, and Geralt growled into his neck. Hands grabbed his hips and threw him down onto the bedroll, a large, warm body blanketing over him almost immediately. Geralt thrust against Jaskier's ass, both of them still in their breeches, but Jaskier felt the heat of Geralt's cock, all but radiating out from behind too much fabric.

It seemed Geralt was beyond words, his communication skills reduced down to grunts and rough handling, pushing Jaskier where he wanted him to go rather than asking. Before this moment, Jaskier would describe that as an accurate day-to-day affair, but now he truly saw the difference. In his right mind, Geralt was a man of few words, yes, but when pressed, he gave answers. This feral, growling man behind him had no use for words, only touch... Jaskier might be able to work with that.

Geralt tugged on his hips and Jaskier obeyed, getting up onto his knees, bracing his elbows on the bedroll he thought to bring in case they needed a soft surface, he thought for wound care, but this was also an adequate use. A softer growl seeped from Geralt's chest and Jaskier figured he was on the right track. No amount of compliance would save his breeches, however, and Geralt tore at the laces, absolutely ruining them in his attempts to get Jaskier out of his clothes.

Jaskier was happy to let Geralt manhandle him and shove him around, anything to get the potion out of his system, until he felt the blunt, hot head of Geralt's cock brush against his ass. “Oil!” he shouted.

Geralt shook behind him, shuddering to a stop. Then, a hand came down on Jaskier's ass, harder than usual, pushing him to the side. “Get it.”

He didn't need to tell Jaskier twice. His breeches in tatters around his knees, Jaskier leaned over and grabbed his pack, uncorking the bottle and handing it back. Geralt growled again and yanked him into place again before two oiled fingers pressed into him—a little harder than usual, but Jaskier could take it. In fact... he found all this rough pushing and grabbing more than a little arousing.

His cock bobbed with each movement, slapping his belly, drooling onto the bedroll as Geralt worked his fingers in and out. Heat coiled at the base of Jaskier's spine and he peered over his shoulder, nodding. “Alright.”

Fire sparked out from behind Geralt's eyes, this was not a man who needed Jaskier's permission. Bracing himself on his elbows, Jaskier bit his lip and prepared for the next move.

The first press of Geralt's oiled cock tore a deep moan from Jaskier's lips. Whatever mental state Geralt was in, Jaskier's noises of pleasure seemed to have the same effect as usual, and it didn't take him long to bottom out. Hands held tight to Jaskier's hips and he felt the tremors running down Geralt's arms. _Fucking thunderbolt_.

Geralt set off at a punishing pace, his hips snapping forward and back, pushing the breath from Jaskier's lungs. “G-geralt,” he stuttered. “Oh yes, please...”

Geralt growled again and blanketed his body over Jaskier's back. One hand came away from his hip and curled around his stomach, holding Jaskier tighter to him. Jaskier managed to lift one of his own arms and covered Geralt's hand with his. “I'm here,” he whispered. “I'm here.”

The increased skin contact seemed to soothe a little and Geralt rubbed his face between Jaskier's shoulder blades, inhaling deeply, reveling in the familiar, comforting smell of Jaskier covered in sex, and covered in Geralt. Jaskier thrust back a few times, which only spurred Geralt on. It wasn't long until his hips stuttered out an irregular rhythm. Jaskier cooed and whispered the whole time. “It's alright, I'm here...”

A thin whine escaped from Geralt's lips, his hips bucking as he came. His hand flapped against Jaskier's stomach, trying to find his cock, mind hazy with potion understanding that he needed to do something for Jaskier as well. Jaskier was so filled, so primed with pleasure, he came as soon as Geralt's fingers brushed his cock, pressing himself into Geralt, feeling the tremors shaking his body, the sweat pouring off of him, and the delicious ache seeping into his muscles, made all the sweeter because he knew this was only the beginning.

Geralt's strength gave out for a moment and the larger man crushed Jaskier down to the bedroll, his cock slipping out, leaving Jaskier empty. Rearranging them, Jaskier tried to hold Geralt in his arms for whatever afterglow they could muster, but Geralt was still shaking, worse than before, and he was already hard.

Over-sensitized, Jaskier winced a little as Geralt pushed in again, slower this time. And with Geralt trapped between Jaskier's legs this time, he had more control, he could direct the decidedly out of control Witcher. He locked his ankles around Geralt's ass and pulled him closer, until they were almost nose to nose. He cupped Geralt's cheeks as he continued to shake and thrust, the worrying tremor in his eyes as well.

“It's alright,” he whispered and placed soft kisses along Geralt's cheek and jaw. “I'm right here, take what you need.”

“Jaskier...” It was the first he'd spoken in quite some time, possible a sign he was coming out of it. “I'm sorry.”

“You haven't hurt me.” As if to prove it, Jaskier arched, making Geralt slide in a little deeper. They both moaned. “Take what you need.”

“W-what if it's too much?” The shake in Geralt's voice broke his heart and Jaskier pulled them closer. If he could, he'd meld them into one being.

He wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and kissed him. With Geralt's shakes, their teeth clacked together and made it more sloppy than sweet, but it seemed to do the trick. Geralt moaned into Jaskier's mouth and his thrusts evened out, quick and rough, but not brutal or manic, taking what he needed without taking too much.

It took longer for Geralt's second climax to build. He broke the kiss and shouted his orgasm into Jaskier's neck, letting Jaskier run his fingers through his hair and gentle him through it. A little more coherent this time, he managed to stroke Jaskier off as well, leaving them both sticky and exhausted.

This time, Geralt collapsed next to Jaskier instead of on him. The shudders shaking his muscles started to subside, and Jaskier retrieved Geralt's winter cloak to cover them while the Witcher recovered, gently stroking his fingers down his cheek, watching for any signs of renewed mania. While small tremors shook Geralt every few minutes, and his half hard cock poked into Jaskier's side, he didn't roll them over again. He held onto Jaskier like a life line, pressing the bard to his chest, their sticky skin snapping uncomfortable whenever they shifted.

After a while laying together, Jaskier stroking Geralt's hair, a familiar awareness filled his eyes. He took a moment to look around their campsite before locking eyes with Jaskier. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I'm fine.” Jaskier kissed his lips before continuing the conversation, he needed Geralt to feel the tenderness the last hour or so lacked. “How many potions did you take?”

“One. Didn't need the other.” He eyed the heap of his clothing. “Probably smashed the other one.”

Jaskier shrugged. “My breaches are a complete loss. Good thing I brought a spare pair in my bag. How long until you're... fully lucid?”

Geralt's eyes went far away for a moment before returning to Jaskier's face. “A few more hours. Should sleep through most of it.”

“Good.” Jaskier stood up briefly to grab their clothes—what was left of them—and their spare traveling blanket. While he didn't fancy sleeping on top of the freezing cold cliff, Geralt probably couldn't make it down the mountain in this condition. They needed to get dressed, then the heat of the fire and Geralt's body would keep them alive through the night.

As soon as Jaskier finished arranging their bed, Geralt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, determined not to let go until morning. He pressed his face into Jaskier's neck, breathing in the scents of him... Under a few days of sweat and travel, he caught the smells of exhaustion, cooling arousal, and worry. But not fear. He did not scare Jaskier with his rough treatment, out of his mind with energy needing an outlet.

Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt's hair, very ready to fall asleep. “Thank you,” Geralt whispered, pulling Jaskier's attention back to the waking world. “Thank you for letting me...it was a lot to ask.”

Geralt had his face buried in Jaskier's neck, but he could imagine to look of shame he'd probably find there. Ashamed that he lost control, or might have hurt Jaskier, that he wasn't strong enough to deal with the trolls without possibly tearing down half the mountain; if Geralt wanted a reason to hate himself, he'd find it.

Jaskier went on stroking his hair like nothing special had happened today. “You are my best friend. If you need my help, I will never hesitate to give it.”

Geralt hugged him closer, still hiding his face. “And you may always expect the same from me.”

Jaskier didn't know how, but they managed to fall asleep on that freezing mountain. The next morning, Geralt watched Jaskier half limp down the mountain, torn between guilt and laughter at the bard's... peculiar walk.

He shot a glare over his shoulder. “What?” Jaskier grumbled.

Geralt snorted again, unable to contain his laughter. “I could carry you. If necessary.”

“And suffer the indignity of you throwing me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes? No thank you.”

Geralt's laughter followed Jaskier all the way down the mountain.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to try a more vignette format with this one, but could only think of four parts, which isn't enough for a true vignette fic, in my opinion, which means it's all just loosely organized around an idea. I think it still works.


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